


Between Lions and Men

by PeppermintTchaikovsky



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4628391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppermintTchaikovsky/pseuds/PeppermintTchaikovsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Achilles and Patroclus die together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Lions and Men

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 136: Achilles and Patroclus die together.

Achilles ran through the battle as fast as his godly legs could take him. None dared to try and attack him for what good would it do to level a spear at someone who was supposed to be invulnerable. Patroclus decked in Achilles’ armor was taking the fight by storm, but he was no match for the Trojan hero Hector, this Achilles knew.   
Achilles ran the moment the fight continued on away from the ships. The words that he had said to Patroclus still burned in his mind. “When you have driven the Trojans from our ships, come back again. Though Hera’s thundering husband should put triumph in your reach, do not fight the Trojans further in my absence, or you will rob me of glory that should be mine,” he had said. The things that he had said caused all of this, and he successfully commanded his beloved to death.  
No, he thought, not yet. He is not dead yet. Achilles continued to race through the battle until he came to the very gates of Troy itself. The very air seemed to crackle with energy. Gods were abound, this Achilles knew well. Fear surged within him as he searched for his companion.  
His Myrmidons surged everywhere, slaughtering the Trojans in mass. It made it impossible to pick out a single soldier from the battle. His soldiers swarmed like ants and they fought with a stronger venom.  
“We, who are fresh might soon drive tired men back from our ships and tents to their own city,” Patroclus had said. He was right, of course, there were no men stronger than the force of his Myrmidons. There was, however, men stronger than Patroclus.  
As Achilles was looking, he caught a fallen Trojan soldier’s eye. There was a gash across his throat. It was deep, but not deep enough to kill immediately. Achilles wished he had a knife or sword to end the poor boy’s suffering.  
His musings were interrupted by a cheer from his Myrmidons. A lone soldier began to scale the Trojan walls. Achilles could barely make out his sigil upon the shield. He pushed his way through bewildered soldiers until something shining on the walls of Troy caught his eye.  
The god Apollo, who loved his Trojans dearly, stood on top of the walls. He appeared to be drawn with light. As soon as Patroclus reached the top of the walls he was struck down by Apollo. Achilles flinched when his body hit the dust. He fought more desperately to reach his comrade.  
Again, Patroclus tried to scale the walls and again he was struck down by Apollo. Achilles tried his hardest to reach his friend but the crowd that had gathered to watch became too thick. Achilles was trapped by his own soldier.  
The seventh time Patroclus tried to scale the walls Achilles felt the energy in the air change. When Patroclus reached the top, Apollo flung him down as if he child who decided he didn’t want to play anymore.   
Patroclus did not rise so easily this time. The impact had finally broken the fastenings of his armour. He could feel the Trojans ginning at him as if they were cats. this man is no Achilles, they thought, therefore he must be a mouse.  
Patroclus knew he couldn’t run. Achilles would have hated him if he ran. As he rose, shaking to his feet, a man came behind him.   
Achilles screamed when the spear struck Patroclus’s back. Many Myrmidons turned their eyes toward their prince and many cleared him a path. Finally, Achilles had made it to the edge of the gathering. Anger rose in his throat to see the man who had wounded Patroclus grinning at him. Achilles had no armour and no weapon. He had no means to kill him, but he swore to Zeus and all the Olympians that if he met that man on the field he would have the bloodiest of deaths.  
Patroclus still stood resolute as the man who had wounded him scampered back into the crowd. He may have had no armour, but he still had a spear and a dagger. He could see Achilles standing in the crowd. It almost made him smile how none of the Trojans dared to attack him, not even Hector. Though Patroclus knew the myths of Achilles invulnerability were only myths, he imagined that the myths were armour enough.  
While he was caught up in his thoughts and seeing him lover there with his worried eyes and anxious hands, Patroclus didn’t notice that another man had emerged from the crowd. Hector raised his spear and upon seeing Achilles react he turned and raised his own.  
While Patroclus was quick, Hector was even quicker and upon each attack there was a skillful counterattack. The clash of bronze filled the air. Wood splintered from their clashing spears. Patroclus did his best to ignore his most recent wound but it was becoming increasingly difficult. Blood had soaked through his shirtfront and heat and exhaustion were beginning to take their toll, but still he fought.  
Patroclus fought with all the valience of a lion, but what did it matter if the fates were turned against him? Achilles knew this and it pained him that he could only watch as Hector hacked away at Patroclus. One of his spears cut his shoulder and he winced as the crimson blood dripped down his beloved’s arm.  
Eventually, it happened, as Achilles knew it would. Patroclus’s wounds had been too much and he faltered. There was one step where he faltered and another when he stumbled slightly. Each mistake made Patroclus more unsure of himself. It was with this insecurity that Hector acted. With a lunge and a twist of his wrist, he drove his ashen spear into Patroclus’s stomach. He faltered for a moment before he fell to his knees in the dust.  
Achilles yelled again but it sounded inhuman. He raced out from the ranks of man and ran to Patroclus. He held Patroclus’s shoulders as Hector pulled the spear from his gut. With every heartbeat more blood poured from Patroclus’s wound. Achilles placed his hand over the wound to try and keep some of the precious lifeblood from spilling but it was to no avail. Warm blood pored over Achilles’ hand and Patroclus feebly tried to steady himself around Achilles’ arms. The world seemed to go silent and even the air was devoid of godly energy until Hector started talking.  
“As for you,” Hector said to Patroclus as he circled the two lovers, “Vultures shall devour you here. Poor wretch, Achilles in all of his bravery availed you nothing; and yet I think when you left him he charged you straightly saying, ‘Come not back to the shis, knight PAtroclus, till you have wrest the bloodstained shirt of Hector from about his body.’ Thus I think did he charge you, and with your fool’s heart you answered ‘yea.’”   
Achilles felt Patroclus trembling in his hands and he felt rage build deep within him. He wanted to scream and say that he issued no such order. He wanted to take Hector by his throat and tell him that his knight Patroclus was no fool and that he was three times the man than he ever was. However, Patroclus answered first.  
“Hector, vaunt as you will, for Zeus, son of Cronus, and Apollo have vouched safe for your victory; it is they who have vanquished me so easily.” Patroclus said. His voice sounded scratched and labored and his breaths quickened as he spoke. He told Hector at length how he was only the third to have at him and how he would have none of the glory of his death.   
Finally, with his final breaths he whispered, “I say further, and lay my saying to your heart, you too shall not live long. Death and the day of your doom are close upon you, and they will lay you low by the hand of Achilles,”   
With that, Patroclus closed his eyes and let himself be led to the underworld. Achilles pulled Patroclus’s body to his chest as tears fell on his beloved’s bloody face. His great shoulders trembled. Hector still circle them and began to address Patroclus’s body.  
“Why do you foretell my doom? Who knows, but Achilles, lovely son of THetis, may be smitten by my spear and die before me,” as he said this, he locked eyes with Achilles.  
Achilles took the dagger from Patroclus’s belt and stood to face the Trojan hero. With the knife in hand he lunged for Hector and cut across his throat.   
There was hardly a fight. Hector was no match for the begrieved Achilles. He used his knife brutally and even once Hector had fallen into the dirt he continued to attack. There was no honour in what he did.   
Achilles continued to hack away at Hector even as he was drowning in his own blood. He would cough or flinch and drops of blood would stain Achilles’ hair or skin. Hector gaped like a fish caught on a fisherman’s hook. Achilles would have let him lay there if it were not for the noises that he made.  
Slowly, Achilles walked over to his spear. It felt heavy in his hands. As he walked back to Hector he thought of what he did and what he must do. As he stood above the convulsing body of Hector he took a deep breath before slamming his spear shaft against his temple. There was a shock of blood and everything was still and silent.  
Achilles’ felt heavy and he kneeled next to Patroclus’s body. Were it not for the blood, it would have seemed like he was merely sleeping. Achilles held Patroclus in his arms. He could not shake the feeling that he had killed his beloved, as sure as Apollo or Hector did. His words, his hunger for glory and retribution were sharper than any spear the Trojans could throw at him. They were to take down the walls of Troy together, stone by stone and he had sent him in his stead because he was too much of a coward to show his supposed weakness.  
Achilles barely turned when he saw a Trojan raise his spear towards him. Everyone supposed he was invulnerable. He was not and the spear pierced his chest as if he were an ordinary man. As his vision started to fade, he took Patroclus’s hand in his. Before he died, he saw his Myrmidon’s spurred into action. Perhaps they would tear down the walls of Troy. Perhaps not. There are no bargains between lions and men. However, the question remains: Who are the lions and who are the men?

**Author's Note:**

> All italicized quotes are actual dialogue from Samuel Butler' s translation of the Iliad.
> 
> My friend sent me a ton of fanfic prompts while I was at camp. This was the last one and it was 136 so, if anyone wants to request a random prompt give me a number before that.


End file.
